Wednesday, April 14, 2010

All Text Is Created Equal [iPad]

I had a thought yesterday, just one. A thought so grand in its scope and magnitude that it inspired me, nay - demanded of me, to write a semi-serious (read: not scatological) blog post. My thesis in 15 words or less: On the iPad, all text carries the same gravity (or gravitas for the hipsters).

This came up when I did a Google Image search for 'gravitas.' Good enough.

The longer I spend with my iPad, or 'Binky' as I've come to refer to her, the more apparent and meaningful this becomes. An article read from the New York Times for instance, when properly zoomed and occupying the entire screen, looks exactly the same as an article from this blog. Subtle racism and dick jokes aside, of course.

Every site carries with it a certain level of bias. As hard as you may try, you can never completely hide this bias. Slate and Fark, for example, are wildly different in their level of design and professionalism, and this difference may influence how much weight you place on a particular story. On a traditional web experience, you're very aware of where you are. But on the iPad everything except the content simply fades away. Suddenly everything just becomes news. When everything you read looks the same, nothing is more or less important than anything else.

This is why I love my iPad. Plus it's really shiny.

Monday, March 15, 2010


According to that guy (whose ironic usage of the word 'worse' is a brilliant comment on the state of American healthcare and not a retarded spelling mistake), I'm smack in the middle of a loooooong weekend. In a turn of what can only be interpreted as divine intervention, Emily (@emooply) is home "sick" today.

Draw your own conclusions.

This morning we watched a show called THE PACIFIC. The show is executive produced by Tom Hanks and Steven Speilberg, whose World War II fetishes are really starting to sully their bodies of work.

Thinly veiled allegory for Hitler's questionable sexuality.

The reason I'll keep watching though, is because of Joseph "Ghostface Killa" Mazzello. His most notable role, of course, being in the great JURASSIC PARK.

It's a bruised knee, I thought it was a nipple for a second too.

Or, if you're Emily, you'll know him best from a movie called THE CURE.

Sounds awesome.

Since I think all shows should be as awesome as LOST, I've composed my own theory as to what's going on with this island (historical note: The show refers to it as Guadalcanal, not sure how accurate that is). Spoilers: 9 episodes worth of stuff will happen then it'll finally be revealed that this was all a prequel to Jurassic Park...we've been on that island the whole time! Of course it's the 30's or something so none of the cool T-Rex vs. Raptor action has happened yet. Wayne Knight hasn't even been conceived. Maybe we get to see baby John Hammond at the end or something, I haven't fully fleshed it out yet.

Then we made some eggs. Then I ruined Emily's manicure by making her fold her own laundry which I washed and dried.

I fear this day may have already peaked.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Fire In My Pants [Heatwave]

For those of you not lucky enough (Read: Too poor) to live in Los Angeles, frankly, I envy you. Today. It's hotter than Kate Gosselin in a bikini up in here. You guys are in to stretched out, cunty Mom's also, right?

Just want another excuse to say "stretched out, cunty Mom." Thanks!

It's supposed to be like 103 degrees today (Fahrenheit. Editor's note: No Europeans allowed). Imagine if I weren't so classy and lived in the Valley, where it's 10-15 degrees warmer than near the ocean. You know what? Don't. No one should have to think of such atrocities.

Let me explain the Valley for those not familiar with it. Let's start with the obvious. Why "the valley?" Most people got tired of saying "the valley of despair" so it became colloquially know simply as "The Valley." You won't find that shit in any history books, fucking Communists and their revisionist history.

This looks like some out of control, third world country, doesn't it? Like, let's say...Puerto Rico? WRONG!! This is Van Nuys on a Sunday afternoon. Lunch trucks have been known to get so out of control in the valley, the riot police have to be called in. I've been raped twice just crossing the street in Sherman Oaks. OK, OK, once. On a related note: Legally it's not rape if you tip your "assailant."

While I'm incredibly frustrated with all the I'm not also equally as relieved I don't live in the valley. Wow, bitching on the internet can really be cathartic.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Biggest Loser?! More Like Biggest...Loser--Shit [Rants]

The Season Finale of BIGGEST LOSER aired last night and god DAMMIT did it piss me off. Pound for pound...

...that was not only the worst episode of the season, but one of the worst episodes of anything I've ever seen. Excluding, of course, that one episode of Frasier where Kelsey Grammer discovers he's really in to scat play.

Shit on my chest.

The biggest problem I had was the running time. IT WAS 3 FUCKING HOURS LONG. 3 hours. Just for a little perspective, here are all the things you could accomplish in 3 hours:

1. Tile and grout an entire rape room.

2. Successfully negotiate peace talks between Israel and Palestine.

3. Watch 6 Donkey Shows.


Think of the thing you love doing most in the world. Now imagine doing that thing for 3 hours straight. Still sound like fun? No, no it doesn't.

Do you like heterosexual sex? --Er, I mean, just plain sex? Great, so do I. I swear. Do I want to do it for 3 hours? No.

Do you like food? Eat some for 3 hours straight. Still like it?

People have a hard time getting through The Godfather, arguably one of the best films ever made. The Godfather is 5 minutes shorter than last nights episode.

Michael, what is this shit? You know I don't eat carbs...

They could have fit all that content in to a 30 minute show and still had 12 minutes to spare. It's like stretching out an orgasm to 3 hours. At a certain point it stops being fun and starts being painful, just ask Rihanna.

We like to eat everything., including your will to live.

TV is supposed to make you happy. It's supposed to help you forget about the family of Guatemalans squatting in the pantry. Is it still considered squatting if you make them walk 3 steps ahead of you to dust the path? I don't like getting the soles of my shoes dirty, lay off.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Note To Self

I live with my wonderful girlfriend Emily. She's female and lets me touch her. Emily's mom is coming in to town this weekend, and boy will her arms be achy! That's how the joke goes, right?

She'll be the first real guest we've had stay in our new apartment, unless you count that "friend" of Emily's that stunk up our couch and stole most of our food. I still think it was a homeless dude that took her for a ride.

I thought it would be prudent to compile a list of things I need to do/hide/have surgically removed before she arrives. This will be in an effort to convince her that her daughter isn't dating some loser with a shitty blog.

1. Get morning wood under control.

2. Conceal the 2 packs of baby wipes I keep next to the toilet. I think Emily's mom knows she doesn't have a granddaughter.

3. Stop my morning ritual of blasting "Single Ladies" while I nakedly march to the shower.

4. Get afternoon through evening wood under control.

5. Remove the display of questionable photos of myself from the mantle. It's not my fault I look great sans pants.

6. Realize my dream of shaving a lightning bolt in to the cats fur is never going to happen.

7. Remove the chalk board hanging in the bathroom where I tally how many times a day I have a solid BM. Replace with this:

Poop is funny.
8. Have more solid BM's.

9. Stop making lists for myself which ultimately go ignored.

I think I can definitely do at least 3 of these.

Monday, May 11, 2009

I'm Back [Fuckers]

Due to sheer boredom and a love for my own ramblings, I'm back! Not much has changed; I'm still sickeningly good-looking/wealthy, I still have a deep rooted hatred for all non white (read: pure) people , and evidently I still remember how to type.

As I type this I'm trying to "procure" a copy of Photoshop in order to wow you with my image compositing skillz. In case my clever use of ironic quotes hasn't clued you in, I'm pirating Photoshop. It looks like I'm still Jewish, so that hasn't changed either.

Read my blog!

Update: appears to be awesome and free.

I'd like to talk a little about traumatic experiences. Not my own so much, there isn't nearly enough time or accredited Internet Therapists for that.

Update 2: sucks. If I wanted some fancy method to remove red eye I would stop smoking meth.

Anyway, this morning I was leisurely minding my own business, NOT looking at porn, when suddenly I hear my name being shouted from across the way.

"Hammer! Hammer!"

I've convinced everyone at work that my birth name is Hammer Rapenstein. It was surprisingly easy.

"Come here, something is on fire!"

I looked toward the first logical place, my loins. Thankfully, they were not. So I strolled next door to find the kitchen engulfed in smoke and smelling of burnt toast. I looked down at my loins again, just to make sure. Then I looked to the toaster. Ah ha!

It looked like this but not nearly as dramatic or tasty.

Let's call the person who discovered this...Panicky. I was then told that "since the car burned down," Panicky was uncomfortable with fire. Just to be clear, yes, I am a classically trained (Julliard) firefighter. The extent of my fire fight with the bread however, amounted to me inhaling and quickly exhaling. Imagine blowing out the candles on the world's shittiest birthday cake.

I'm all for avoiding situations that rehash traumatic experiences (Ask me when the last time I used a broom was. 1989.), but c'mon! Everyone needs to calm the eff down and put things in perspective. A flaming piece of toast is relatively harmless. Unless it's Rye. God DAMMIT do I love Rye bread.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Future is Now

Emily was at school last night (that's what she calls her other boyfriend), so I decided to order myself a pizza. Rather than go for quality, I went for technology. I just really wanted to get that feeling back, you know the one I'm talking about. Remember the first time you saw "The Net"? Remember when Sandy Bullock (we're pally like that) signed online and ordered a fucking pizza? This was in 1995, mind you. That shit blew my mind.

Sadly, she was never heard from again.

My pizza house of choice was Domino's, because unfortunately, only shitty pizzeria's let you order online. Whatever, totally worth it. Come to think of it, the best part of that pizza was ordering it. Anyway, check out what the geniuses over at Domino's have invented:

It's kinda hard to read, but the progress bar is broken up into order placed, prep, bake, box, deliver. I literally stared at this flashing bar for 30 minutes until my pizza arrived. This is the pinnacle of technology, people. It's all downhill from here...